


higher than a kite and i’ve been painting the sky

by aceofdiamonds



Series: the one where harry and george get together and kiss a lot [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 08:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12526968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: “We’re getting out of here,” George tells him in an alcove off the fourth floor corridor.“Who’s we?”“Me and Fred,” George says, rolls his eyes, but he softens, “And you, if you want.”And Harry does want, wants it so much he can’t bring himself to imagine it.





	higher than a kite and i’ve been painting the sky

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve been thinking about these two together a lot recently. here’s my go of it. i tweaked a couple of tiny details to make it fit bc somehow ootp is the one book where harry never ends up in the hospital wing. also i don’t think i’ve ever written ootp harry before so i’m sorry that this is overly fluffy and probably a disaster of a character likeness. i have vague ideas to make this a series.

  


Harry wakes up to the now becoming disgustingly familiar ceiling of the hospital wing. He frowns, mind blank as to how he got here — last thing he knew he was at Quidditch practice and now he’s lying here with, he sees when he turns his head, George Weasley sitting in the chair beside him.

“Why are we here?” he asks, groans when Madam Pomfrey appears at the bottom of his bed. She’s a great woman, but, again, he’s really seen too much of her.

“You had a nose bleed, Mr Potter,” she tells him, which Harry takes as nowhere near the whole answer given that he _fainted_ and also by the shifting of George in his seat, a guilty expression all over his face.

“How did I faint from a nosebleed?” he asks anyway, sitting up. He answers himself. “It’s because I’m delicate, isn’t it?” remembering what Madam Pomfrey said after the Dementor on the train. George snorts.

He gets a little smile at that. “You lost a lot of blood but I fixed you up and you can go back to your common room.”

“I _fainted_ ,” he says again to George as they walk back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Well,” George says now, rubs the back of his neck. “Ron threw the Quaffle at you, your nose started bleeding, and then we -- well, Fred, actually -- gave you the wrong end of a Nosebleed Nougat.”

Which is marginally less embarrassing now that Harry knows it wasn’t his fault. “And did you --” he trails off, winces.

“Carry you up here?” George grins. “‘Fraid so, yeah. You know, all those muscles and yet you still weigh less than a feather.”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, shouldering George. “I’m a growing boy.”

If his thoughts wander to George carrying him in his arms, well, that’s normal, isn’t it?

  


.

  
  


Fred and George have been an unshakeable force of friendship and support for the last five years, from the moment they helped Harry with his trunk on the train, through the Chamber of Secrets and Tournament debacles, through this year where it seems like no one believes and he can’t help but snap at those that do. But they’ve been good, they’ve been here, making him laugh, making him feel sane.

Fred and George, a unit, but over the last few months, or, if Harry really thinks about it, over the last year and a half, he and George have become that bit closer. He’s the kinder of the two, the quieter, the one who can sit and talk about anything and everything, and Harry hasn’t appreciated anything more. Ron and Hermione are great, they are, but they bicker and they sulk, and with George -- well, with George things got confusing for a while with Harry working out what the hell his feelings were doing, but after that, he began seeking out George, when things got too much, when he wanted to hear George laugh, when he just wanted his head to be quiet for awhile.

  


.

  


So, from spending a little more time with George, from spending time with him separate from the Weasleys, from Fred, it’s not that long before Harry realises that he’s interested in spending all this time with George in a way that’s completely different from the rest of his family. He’s had similar thoughts to boys in the past, it’s something he’s worked through in the past, and he’s sort of okay with it at the moment -- honestly, at this point, it just feels like another thing to deal with, except it’s a bit less unpleasant than all the Voldemort and Ministry stuff.

So he talks to George and laughs with George and willingly helps test of Skiving Snackboxes with George. He’s not getting ahead of himself here, he’s not looking for anything to come from what he has now labelled as a crush. He’s happy just spending these few hours doing things that aren’t worrying about a thousand different things or avoiding Hermione’s overly-concerned gaze or getting shouted at by Angelina.

“You’ve spent so much time with George recently I’m beginning to get jealous,” Ron comments one night when they’re sprawled across the rug in front of the common room fire, Flitwick’s essay driving them both to some very inventive swearing.

“You’re always my favourite Weasley,” Harry says, laughs loudly when Ron rolls his eyes and mutters that _he didn’t ask for sarcasm_.

  


.

  


He’s still getting the headaches, the nightmares, the violent sparks of rage, but between them there are light spots that are becoming more and more frequent. He goes to bed, shuts his eyes, and has dreams that flit wildly between the dangerous corridor with the unopened door and an elaborate fantasy involving the Quidditch changing rooms and George Weasley.

  


.

  


The kiss happens so naturally Harry barely has time to feel nervous before George is leaning in and going for it.

It happens after their brawl on the Quidditch pitch, the two of them banned for life for very justifiably beating up Malfoy. They trudge back to the common room, hearts heavy, fists clenched, and, just before they reach the Fat Lady, George tugs at Harry’s sleeve, pulls him off to the side.

“I love Quidditch,” George says, a stupidly obvious statement but Harry makes a groan of agreement, slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground. When George joins him he thinks nothing of dropping his head onto George’s shoulder, his eyes sliding closed. His fist is throbbing, knuckles bleeding, and he feels hollow. “Was one of the only things worth sticking around,” George adds, sighing.

Which Harry takes offence at on a number of levels. “What about --”

“Obviously I meant the DA too, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” George groans, but when Harry opens his eyes, lifts his head, he’s smiling a little, and Harry finds that he is too. “And you.”

Harry frowns. “What about me?”

“I know Ron’s thick but I thought you were smarter than him,” George says, raises an eyebrow. “Bloody hell, Harry, I thought it’d been obvious I've fancied you for ages.”

“ _How_ is that obvious?” Harry retorts, and then George is tilting his head and kissing him and it’s a bit of a messy with Harry’s glasses and their noses keep squashing together and George ends up laughing which makes Harry laugh because this is his first kiss and it’s with _George Weasley,_ Ron’s big brother, but then they try again and it feels a bit more serious and Harry stops thinking so much and it’s really very nice, especially when George brushes his thumb along Harry’s cheek, deepens the kiss.

Who would’ve thought that George Weasley, Ron’s big brother, would be Harry’s first kiss and that he can kiss so well? (Well, Harry did, after all those dreams he had.)

So they don’t have Quidditch, and that hurts, but there are much worse things happening outside of the school, and also, in this corridor just off from the Fat Lady, much much better things.

  


.

  


Harry, seething from Umbridge’s treatment of Hedwig, marches through the corridors to find Ron and Hermione, shouldering past a group of second years going the wrong way. He spots Fred and George up ahead, surrounded by enthralled third years, and grabs George’s arm, pulls him into an empty classroom.

When he kisses him, pulls him closer by his shirt, he wonders if this is healthy, kissing George when he’s angry like this, but already he feels so much better, breathing in George’s smell, something sweet along with a tinge of smoke. He walks George back against the wall, slows the kiss down.

“Sorry to grab you like that. I was --” he waves a hand.

George shrugs. “My services are renowned. I mean -- I’m Fred, so I was a bit --”

“I’ve always been able to tell you apart,” Harry points out, smiling.

“That’s true,” and Harry knows how much that means to George, when even their own mother slips up every now and then. George slips his arms around Harry’s waist, hugs him to him. “What happened?”

“Umbridge is interfering with my mail,” Harry mutters. He’s the same height as George so he has to dip his head to push it into George’s shoulder. He breathes in.

He feels George’s hands tighten at his waist. “Shit.”

“Exactly,” he sighs. “I need to go and tell Ron and Hermione Grubbly-Plank says Hedwig will be okay,” but he doesn’t really feel like moving. Aside from his interest in asking Cho to the Yule Ball, he’s never ever understood why people sought out relationships, but this, whatever its label, is really quite good. His head is still thumping and his temper is always barely controlled, but doing this, spending break snogging in an empty classroom, it helps.

He kisses George, wonders when he became this person to snog in empty classrooms. He pulls away, says, “Go back to your adoring crowd,” laughing when George flips him off and slips out the door. Harry sits on a desk, breathes, and goes to find Ron and Hermione, the anger at Umbridge solidified into resolve.

  


.

  


Through the DA Harry learns how to teach, how to make the things he always seems to have known, easy and accessible to those in need. He had been sceptical of the idea at first but nothing beats the feeling of actually _doing_ something about Voldemort while their government is closing its eyes to the truth.

He gets a thrill out of seeing his friends, his classmates, his _students_ , succeed at a spell they’ve been struggling with. He joins in the applause when Neville manages to Stun Ron. He pats Dean on the back when he produces a Shield Charm so strong it knocks Lavender off her feet.

“Oi, Professor!” George shouts. “C’mere, I need help.”

“What did I say about calling me that?” Harry tells him on his way over, a few students laughing at the exchange.

“Just treating you with the respect you deserve, Mr Potter,” George simpers, keeping his wand trained on a very silent and very frustrated Fred who is gesticulating wildly in ways Harry doesn’t think he’d ever let Mrs Weasley see.

“What do you want?”

“How do I make this permanent?” George asks, grinning when Fred rolls his eyes and turns to annoy Angelina into undoing the jinx.

“Bit of an elaborate way to get my attention,” Harry says.

“Always inventive, babe,” George replies. “Now that you’re here, I can’t quite get my wand movements right -- I saw you helping the lovely Cho Chang by guiding her wrist, is there any way you could try the same technique with me?”

Biting his lip to stop himself grinning, Harry adopts a serious expression. “It did seem to work well with Cho,” he agrees, stepping in closer to George.

They’ve not discussed much about keeping whatever they’re doing a secret but Harry’s got enough on his plate without thinking about people analysing his love life and George is trying to make his business take off without being associated with Harry Potter even more than he already is, so for now they’re sticking to snogs in the broom closet on the sixth floor, sneaking down to the kitchens at night, and being far too daring and risky everywhere else.

But now Harry holds onto George’s wrist, squeezes it warningly when he sees George’s other hand wander, and guides him through the motions of a standard hex. He knows that Fred and George, despite all appearances, are somewhat decent students, and that making it to NEWT level in a handful of subjects means they know more than Harry, but George did ask so Harry takes his time walking him through the very simple steps a few times until Terry Boot waves his wand in the air and asks for help.

  


.

  


“We’re getting out of here,” George tells him in an alcove off the fourth floor corridor.

“Who’s we?”

“Me and Fred,” George says, rolls his eyes, but he softens, “And you, if you want.”

And Harry does want, wants it so much he can’t bring himself to imagine it. “Dumbledore —" he tries feebly.

“Dumbledore hasn’t looked at you all year, Harry,” George points out.

But there’s this dumb sense of loyalty, of sticking around to drive out Umbridge from inside. And he can’t even imagine the look on Hermione’s face if he swung out of here before doing his OWLs.

“You go, George,” Harry says, tips his head back against the wall. “You and Fred go and make something of those galleons I gave you.”

“I’ll worry about you,” George says, matter-of-factly. That’s what Harry’s always noticed with Fred and George. Yeah, they’re both hilarious, the class clowns, always looking out for everyone, but George is that little bit more serious. Harry likes the balance he’s found.

“There’s a lot of people worrying about me,” Harry replies. “Write to me, okay?”

George kisses him, body pressing up against Harry’s, hands careful on his shoulders, his waist. Harry falls into it, wonders if this will be one of the last, and makes a promise not to become lovesick when he’s gone. He breaks it almost immediately when George pulls away, grins, and says, “You’re a specky git, you know that?” And the fondness in his voice tells Harry everything that goes unsaid.

  


.

  


Turns out it wasn’t the _final_ kiss. That comes as Harry is leaving Umbridge’s office and George pulls him through a tapestry. He kisses him hard, throwing everything into it, and Harry digs his fingers into his waist, holds on until Fred shouts through the covering, “This is really romantic and all, boys, but we’re on a bit of a schedule.”

  


.

  


_Fred asked me not to say anything explicit while using our shared owl so you’ll need to wait until you see me. Which is when? I’m needy, Harry, if you haven’t noticed. Business is booming, even with you lot stuck in school, and here I am, pining. Fred’s right — I’m disgusting and I’m ashamed of myself._

_George_

_P.S. Umbridge, if you’re reading this: apologies for missing out the juicy stuff. For reasons, see above._

  


.

  


“What are you grinning at?” Ron demands, lunging for the letter in Harry’s hand.

“Ron! It’s obviously private!” Hermione reprimands but she’s curious too.

Face flaming, Harry makes up an uncomfortable lie of a secret admirer, biting his lip at George’s reaction to that. The way he’s been feeling this year, everything going wrong, he doesn’t want to say yet, just in case. And, anyway, there’s a lot to cover what with George being both a boy and Ron’s brother, although Harry think he’s more worried about the latter now that he’s had a lot of time to think about it.

  


.

  


Sirius falls through the veil, Harry’s world dims, classes end, everyone is released from the hospital wing, and then they’re on the train home for another year.

Harry sits in the corner, head against the window, and wonders if Fred and George will be part of the welcoming committee.

He hears Ginny tell Ron that she’s dating Dean Thomas and turns his head just in time to catch Ron glance at him oddly when he says, “Just choose someone -- better -- next time.” Can Harry transfer that approval to his older brother? Does the same sentiment apply?

They spill out onto the platform, trunks clattering down beside them. Harry’s tips over but when he swears and goes to pull it upright George is already there, straightening it.

“Oi! Where’s my help?” Ron asks, wrestling with Pig’s cage and his own wayward trunk.

“I like Harry better than you,” George replies with a smirk, winking at Harry. “Come on, Harry, Mum’s over here,” and then he leads Harry on a complex, spirally twist through the crowd, ending up behind a pillar, tucked away from everyone. He puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders, holds him at arm's length, and peers at him. Harry shifts, suddenly worried that everything’s changed between him and George is going to become horribly sympathetic, which he doesn’t think he can take at the moment. “You’re not doing okay,” George tells him. Harry frowns. “Sirius was great. You know he was one of my heroes and on top of that he was a right laugh. This is a bad time, but you’ll get through it,” and that, that straightforward, honest, talk is exactly what Harry needs.

“Did you ever ask him about the Marauders?”

George freezes. “I didn’t.”

“There’s always Remus,” Harry points out, grabbing onto that himself. “And I’ve learned a bit.”

“You’ll need to tell me all about them.” George smiles now. “What if I said I missed you a little bit?”

Harry shrugs. “I’d say that sounds about right. But it’s your twin I missed more,” because joking with George is easy when the rest of his body just wants to shut down.

“I’m not exaggerating when I say that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” and the affected face he adopts makes Harry snort, his forehead dropping onto George’s shoulder.

“Is this dragon skin?” he mutters into the shiny fabric.

“I told you -- business is booming. But, please, don’t tell Charlie, he’ll kill us even though we looked into the ethics of it all.”

“They’re going to be looking for us,” Harry says, reluctant to leave this hideaway. “I’m a liability.”

And, like always, George doesn’t dismiss this, just shapes it into a joke, something Harry can live with. “Well, Liability, you’ll need to come and see the shop this summer. There’s a whole range I’ve been dying to show you.”

Harry leans in and kisses George, sighing into his mouth at the way something so simple can untangle the knot that’s been lodged in his stomach, in his throat, for the last fortnight. He kisses George for the first time in weeks and, not to rest everything on him, that’s a lot of responsibility for one person, he feels his heartbeat calm and he feels a little more like he can face the world, whatever it chucks at him.

“ _Where_ have you two been?” Mrs Weasley frowns, pulling Harry into a long hug that undoes everything George did and has him blinking back unwelcome tears. “Ron said you disappeared.”

“I had a couple of Skiving Snackboxes in my trunk,” Harry admits, amazed at the smoothness of his own lie. “I didn’t want the Dursleys to see them; Dudley still hasn’t recovered from the --” he stops abruptly thanks to the foot pressing down on his own, telling him to quit while he’s ahead. “Sorry for keeping everyone, I didn’t expect so many of you.”

“We want a word with your family,” Mad-Eye says, turning to look at Harry, his magical eye still trained in the vicinity of the pillar Harry and George were behind. Harry opens his mouth to make up some sort of explanation as to why he might have been snogging George, but instead Mad-Eye winks, always surprising him. “Why don’t you and George lead the way?”

  


 


End file.
